


three (143)

by cloudburst



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, ayyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 17:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: It was three bullets from Daisy – all she’d had. It was three songs from Magnolia before I found myself in a backroom of the Third Rail. There were three men, and then there were two. He was worth three men.





	three (143)

**Author's Note:**

> me writing this drabble-esque thing at midnight on a saturday instead of finishing a paper? u betcha!

I had always liked the number three. Good things always came in triplets – bags of my favorite potato chips, kisses from Nora upon each cheek as she saved the last one for my lips, giggles from Shaun as I spun his mobile. These things all came in threes, and that made me love the number. Three was the number of times I’d glanced at Piper before allowing her to recruit my help. Three was everything as I moved throughout the Wasteland; it was the number of headshots in a row as a raider group attacked me. I always sought to improve upon that, waste not want not. But three was magical, and I could not. That ghoul mayor, Hancock – well, he’d rolled his eyes at me three times during our first conversation. (It was likely more, but my ego would never allow me to admit that to myself.) 

It was three bullets from Daisy – all she’d had. It was three songs from Magnolia before I found myself in a backroom of the Third Rail. There were three men, and then there were two. He was worth three men. 

I had always liked the number three. Good things always came in triplets – but Cait overdosed three times before I told her I would help. I lost three from a settlement down south; everyone had said it wasn’t my fault, but maybe taste for a different number would have allowed things to turn out differently. Three was the number of months it took for me to realize I was in love with MacCready. I am thankful for those three months every day – and the many months since then. But then it was three steps in the wrong direction, and it was three bullets lodged in my chest that was blurring my vision at the edges. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember how many months it had been. I couldn’t remember anything.

Everything was too loud and too fast. I knew that my final destination was approaching faster than I could extend my arm to reach for a Stimpak, but that was okay. I only had three, and MacCready would need them if he were to escape the raiders in one piece. There were far more than three of them. There were only two of us.  


But then there was a hissing noise – I counted, three seconds – and I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I stopped rushing through my own head, and the approaching black broke, cascading away from me. The darkness was simply my eyelids, but the pain was still extant in three places: chest, head, heart. Those were the indicators of a human being. I still was one, and felt more like shit with the second hiss. 

Three words were repeated like a mantra into the too quiet, too still air. RJ was a good shot, but there was no way he’d taken down all those raiders. _Another hiss, more pressure in my neck._ Then there was a gasp, but it was only one person – a woman, familiar. I wanted to reach out to her, but my body was heavy. I weighed three-thousand pounds. I had three heads. I would be dead, soon.

“How many times was he shot?”

“Three.”

The world went dark after that. 

“How long has he been out?” 

I knew the voice.

“Three days.”

I knew that one too.

“God, I hope he wakes up soon.”

The third voice, I recognized as well – but if you’d asked I wouldn’t have been able to give her a name. Everything hurt: my chest, my head, my heart. Fucking three was haunting me. I did the only thing a man can do in a situation like that: I groaned. 

We all need a little attention sometimes. 

And I could name the voice that began to curse in relief, but cut himself off immediately. There was no mistaking the one in three. 

“Baby, you’re alive. We had uh, hoped you’d make it but I was so worried and –“

I opened my eyes, ever so slightly. MacCready’s face was inches from mine. I shushed him; it didn’t help to be worried, then. 

“I got shot what, three times?” My voice was a rasp – barely audible. “My head hurts, so lay with me and make me all better.”

He did as I asked after a couple of moments, situating himself next to me in what I then recognized as my bed in Sanctuary Hills. He put both hands on my chest, telling me not to scare him like that. I told him that had never been my intention, and I think he took pity on me then – light kisses pressed to both of my cheeks. Later, he’d place two on my chin. He’d repeat ‘I love you’ twice – just to make sure that it was clear, as if he hadn’t been the first time. Two days passed before I was fully recuperated. 

On the second night, he pressed two kisses into my neck before I couldn’t speak anymore. I sucked bruises into his collarbones – a nice pair for each, to match. And it was gentle, quiet like the night that passed us by. 

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let anything bad happen to you.” 

I fell asleep, warm. 

I woke up with two arms wrapped around me – with two light kisses being placed across my jaw. 

Maybe good things no longer came in threes. There were two of us, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what ya think legends


End file.
